by J. G. Martin
Al Prinz had been preparing for a disaster from the day he built his company from a small group of special operators into a global security business with thousands of employees. Prior to the Collapse they had been the world’s largest private military contractor with troops serving all over the world. He had seen the end coming and had built a fortified complex in the western hills of North Carolina capable of withstanding a nuclear blast and stockpiled with food, water, and medical supplies. Vehicles, weapons, and ammo had been bought and stored in large bunkers within the complex. Every possible need had been thought of and prepared for. So when the Collapse had happened, the Outfit had emerged from the Aftermath ready to profit from the new environment.
Before the Collapse they had worked for any government or corporation who could afford them. They were well known for completing a mission at any cost. If you wanted to guarantee the success of a mission, you hired them. Following the Aftermath they had attempted to maintain a form of neutrality and work for the highest bidder, but now they deferred to the U.S.T.G.. In effect they had become the de facto black ops arm of the U.S.T.G., operating where the U.S.T.G. couldn’t or wouldn’t. Al Prinz was an honorable man who tried to keep his employees safe and taken care of and that was taking its toll. He was a consummate professional and it was wearing on him physically.
The President however, was another story. Formerly Vice President under a previous administration he had miraculously risen to power following the Collapse. He had disappeared for a few years prior to the Collapse and had reappeared looking younger and in fantastic shape. Now in his early eighties he possessed the vigor of a forty year old. A far cry from the multiple heart surgeries needed during his terms. Despite his physical resurgence, the President still maintained the fierce temper and domineering attitude he possessed before the disappearance.
Based on reports he had heard, Mark was aware that the man was becoming increasingly erratic and that the U.S.T.G. was becoming even more controlling. Rumors were coming out that the President had purged some of his closest allies in the government and the military. Many had just vanished overnight with no explanation. But, the U.S.T.G. paid big and paid on time. Plus being their errand boys meant they probably wouldn’t decide that the Outfit was a threat and bomb them into oblivion.
The President was winding up his tantrum, so Mark paid closer attention. Channing had been yelling at his boss for the failure to collect something he referred to as the device. Mark wasn’t sure what that was but Al would tell him what he needed to know. Channing paused and delivered one final line before he cut the communication.
“Bring me the device or you can consider your contract terminated. Permanently.” Channing emphasized the last word.
“Yes sir. I’m putting my best man on it.” The CEO responded deferentially.
He followed that with “Asshole” once the communication had ended. Turning to Mark he said. “You saw what the President said, but I need you to understand the seriousness of this situation. If we fail he will terminate us, not just the contract. He only keeps us around as long as we are useful to him.”
“What do you need me to do sir?” Mark had replied eagerly.
“Go to this location in Arkansas and figure out what happened to our men.” His boss told him showing him a map on the video screen. “Then track down this man and retrieve the device he has on him.”
The split image of a man flashed onto the screen. On the left he was in an Army uniform and on the right was a candid shot of him in a random town. He looked very rough in the second picture with long hair and bushy beard compared to the squared away clean cut Army shot. The man wore dirty jeans tucked into scuffed combat boots. He had on a faded old school camouflage jacket over a red t-shirt that said “Born to Fight”. That wasn’t asking for trouble. The butt of a sawed off shotgun and the hilt of a machete stuck up over his right shoulder, a pistol was on his right hip, and combat knife in his belt on the left hip completed the look. He looked weathered, but surprisingly not that old. This was odd since at least twelve years had probably passed since the pictures were taken.
“Who is he?” Mark asked unimpressed.
“Meet Major Derek H. Storm formerly Special Forces for the U.S. and the U.S.T.G..”
The name rang a bell in Mark’s memory. “Wait, this is the guy that punched General Merkel in the face? I thought they executed him.”
“Apparently not. And I think they are regretting that right now. He has something the U.S.T.G. desperately wants, and he has left a trail of bodies from Colorado to now Arkansas of everyone who has tried to take it.”
“Are you telling me he has taken out three squads and two gunships all by himself?”
“Possibly, but others may be involved. That’s why I’m sending you instead of more troops. Stealth may be the better option here. Find out what happened to our men, and then track this man down. If you need backup you have unlimited access to every resource we possess. I’m counting on you to get this device. Failure is not an option.” Al said very seriously.
“I won’t let you down sir.” Mark replied with equal seriousness.
“I know” The CEO said and then dismissed him.
Mark was bursting with barely contained excitement. Derek Storm was a legend. His exploits for the U.S. government were only exceeded by his mission successes working for the U.S.T.G.. His nuclear strike on the European forces was a stroke of genius. It was unfortunate that he had cracked under the pressure and attacked a commanding officer. Mark had just been entering the service when Storm had been supposedly executed so he never got a chance to work with him. Now Mark would get a chance to test his skills against a true legend, even if he was older. This was going to be fun.
Entering the armory, Mark began requisitioning the weapons and gear he needed to complete the mission. The armorer had balked at handing over such valuable and limited gear, but the notation in the computer that Mark could have whatever he wanted won him over. He had started to explain how the gear worked but Mark waved him off. He knew how to use it; he wasn’t some rank amateur, he was a professional.
He put on the suit he had selected; the XS-3B Stealth Suit, nicknamed the Spider Suit, and grabbed the XRG-2C rifle he had ordered. Both of these were brand new and experimental, provided by the U.S.T.G. as payment for services rendered. The Outfit only had three of each, making them extremely valuable. Mark probably wouldn’t have been allowed to play with them except for the unlimited access he had been given. He sobered for a second when he realized how important that made this mission. If he failed, the entire company would probably be wiped out by the U.S.T.G.. He quickly regained his confidence. He was the best operator out there, and he had the best gear. There was no way he could fail.
Knowing time was of the essence he headed to the helipad and commandeered a gunship to take him to Arkansas. Again, the unlimited access gained him a quick ride even though the pilots didn’t have a flight plan in hand. He gave them the coordinates and sat back while the crew loaded his motorcycle on the helicopter.
During the ride he inspected his gear. He needed to be 100% ready when he got there. The Stealth Suit covered his entire body in a thick sheath of material similar to latex. It was fireproof and bullet resistant. More importantly it concealed his body temperature and absorbed some light. Someone would have to be looking directly at him to spot him. The headpiece contained breathing apparatus with filters, a built in radio headset, and the goggles had a pop up HUD. Very impressive; but the best feature, and the reason it earned its nickname, was the amazing ability to climb up walls and flat surfaces.
The XRG was just as cool. It was a first generation rail gun, which used magnetic coils to accelerate a tungsten round to extreme velocities. The boxy design allowed it to be folded up into a small backpack complete with straps. Its range was amazing and the penetrating power was awesome, it was even more powerful than the Barrett’s the Outfit sniper’s used. Eliminating the explosive part of the bullet allowed for grea
ter ammo capacity and each clip held 100 projectiles in a small clip which could be expended in seconds with the rifle’s extremely high rate of fire. In addition it contained an advanced laser sight that doubled as a microphone and could be connected to the suit’s HUD. All of these features made it the most versatile and deadly weapon in the Outfit arsenal.
The last weapon he had brought was the most personal. It was a carbon steel ninjato, or ninja short sword, given to him by his sensei when Mark had attained sixth degree black belt status. Guns were great, but a blade never jammed or failed. Very often in his career Marc had been forced to engage in close combat and this sword had meant the difference between life and death.
The chopper dropped Mark roughly five miles from the facility and he made his way there on the modified Zero MMX-5 motorcycle he had requisitioned. It used an electric motor so it was very quiet, and the frame was made a lightweight composite to lower its profile. He covered the distance to the facility in seconds and rolled to a stop just outside. As he had approached he had seen the plumes of smoke drifting into the sky. Getting closer, the source of the smoke became obvious. Both of the gunships had been shot down and were smoking ruins.
Mark concealed the bike outside the facility and did a quick sweep of the area to make sure it was clear before he went in. A brief examination of the scene determined there were no survivors. The position of the bodies and the angles of their wounds indicated multiple assailants. Burnt holes in the bodies of the dead troops indicated pulse rifle fire, but nobody had those except the Collective and this was way outside their territory. A quick check of the choppers showed similar weapons damage had brought them down confirming the enemy had used pulse rifles.
There were no other bodies or blood to indicate that any of the attackers had even been wounded. It had been a massacre. Mark found the Humvee Storm had stolen from the first team in the warehouse. It was useless so Storm hadn’t left that way. There were van tracks leading in and then away from the solar plant. Maybe he had left in that, but he certainly hadn’t come that way. What would the Collective want with Storm? Were they after the device as well? He was about to report in when the enhanced senses of the suit picked up an approaching vehicle.
It was almost in the main yard by the time he detected it, so Mark did the only thing he could. He used the suit’s spider ability and climbed up the nearest tower. The panel was damaged allowing him to perch in the hole atop the panel and look down into the yard. With his suit helping conceal him and him being in an unlikely place meant the chance of discovery was very slim. He unfolded the rifle from his back and engaged the link from the scope to his HUD. He aimed at the newly arrived van and watched as a man, no a Humek, dressed in golden armor got out. So it was the Collective. This must be who had wiped out his fellow soldiers.
It took all the discipline he had not to shoot the cyborg in the head. But Mark needed to find out where Storm had gone and this was his only lead. So he waited. After about an hour he heard the rumble of approaching engines. Four vehicles roared into the yard and skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. All four were a mishmash of parts, weapons, and armor. It was motley collection of redneck road warrior vehicles. Two dirt bikes came roaring in from behind the van to complete the circus.
There was a large dual wheeled pickup truck that looked like the front end had been removed and the thin aluminum shell replaced with heavy duty steel armor. It had been cut and welded together giving the front end a boxy look. A large home-made brush guard made from what looked like steel pipe was mounted on the front. Steel plates and screens covered the doors and windows. The back of the truck had similar plates welded over it. A fifty caliber machine gun was mounted in the bed and was currently aimed at the van. A confederate flag on a long antenna completed the look.
The second vehicle was what looked to be an older model Ford Mustang with a supercharger, but it was hard to tell with the plain steel armor welded all over it. The doors were a different color and had metal screens welded over the windows just like the windshield. A large steel bumper had been affixed to the front, replacing the traditional bumper, and it looked like a roll cage had been added as well. An M-60 Light Machine Gun was mounted on the passenger side. Mark could hear the engine idling without the laser mike activated.
The last two road warrior vehicles were SUVs with armor welded on to them. One had a large ram on the front and had oversize wheels. The other was a little longer and had caging in the back. Looking closely he could see dogs move around in the cage. Neither of those vehicles was visibly armed, but both had Confederate flag stickers on the bumpers. Large CB antennas sprung up from all of the vehicles, and all four vehicles had bullet marks and scorch damage and showed signs of constant repairs.
The crew that got out of them was equally colorful. Both men and women got out of or off of the various vehicles. They were all dressed in denim clothing with various pieces of armor over top. The armor ranged from bulletproof vests to what looked like modified football pads. They were apparently sticking with the redneck road warrior theme. All of their gear was patched and worn, but mostly clean, which surprised Mark. Most of them had mullets and many of them had dyed their hair bright colors. All the men had sideburns and were rough shaven. The women all wore knee high boots and some weren’t wearing very much clothing. Tattoos covered everyone’s exposed skin and most had multiple piercings. All of them were heavily armed and wore black bandannas facing forwards around their necks.
The hillbillies formed a semi-circle facing the golden armored Humek. There were ten of them altogether, seven men and three women. All of them had their hands on their guns and were assuming tough poses and looks. The Humek looked totally unconcerned and Mark knew why, the thing had wiped out a small army of professional soldiers without breaking a sweat. Whoever these clowns were, they didn’t pose a threat. Laughing to himself at the spectacle, Mark engaged the laser mike and listened in.
“Are you the one offering the bounty?” The redneck leader, a tall man with long blond hair, asked the cyborg.
“Yes, but let’s wait for the rest of bounty hunters to arrive before I give the details.” He replied.
The redneck leader laughed. “No one else is coming. We’s the Buckwald family and this here is our territory. We the only ones who hunt here.” He announced thumping his chest. The others voiced their agreement and nodded their heads vigorously.
“I see…then I suppose you have the contract.” The Humek agreed. “I want you to hunt down a man and a woman who fled from here approximately three hours ago. Bring me their bodies and EVERYTHING they have on them. If anything is missing I won’t pay the bounty.”
“Are you questionin’ our ‘tegrity mister?” One of the followers demanded in a deep southern accent as the others bristled.
“If you mean integrity, then yes I am. I can see your records, Otis Buckwald, and I know all about your stealing, moonshining, and drug charges. You are all hillbilly scum and your kind is a blight on this planet. But I am need of your services, so you will have to do.” The cyborg informed them coldly.
Incensed at being insulted, several of the men and one of the women started to pull their guns; but the leader stopped them with a raised hand. All of the bounty hunters were visibly angry and were muttering amongst themselves. The leader glanced around and gestured almost imperceptibly with his head. As the others noticed the dead bodies and burnt gunships they fell silent and eyed the cyborg with a small amount of nervousness. Of course the Humek seemed unconcerned and just stared at the leader. Mark could see him wilt under the intense stare.
“Okay, we’s ‘ll find your’n runners for you. But you need to show some respect.” He replied unconvincingly, but trying to save face.
“Right…”The cyborg answered. “Find them and bring them and their belongings to Jonesboro. Fail me and you will regret it.”
“Which way did they go?” One of the women asked.
“Isn’t that your job?” The cyborg replied almost sa
rcastically. Mark wasn’t aware they had a sense of humor though.
The Humek turned and got into the van, leaving the rednecks standing there with their mouth’s hanging open. Although that could be their normal state Mark joked to himself. The van left and headed towards Jonesboro. He could see the bounty hunters start looking around. They looted the bodies of the dead soldiers. Mark knew that was wasteland protocol but he still thought they were vultures. He watched them get the dogs out and begin searching the facility for a clue to where their prey had gone.
Normally he would have been worried, but the suit masked any odor he might be giving off. Mark was starting to cramp from being in the tower this long, but he would just have to suck it up and wait. For the next hour or so the bounty hunters roamed the facility. While he waited he called up the files on these clowns using subvocalized command to the HUD.
They were collectively known as the Buckwald family. All of them were related, but the files seemed vague in some cases on exactly how. Sisters, brothers, cousins, uncle-brothers, etc. Before the Collapse the family was always in trouble with the law for various petty crimes and fights. None of them had any real formal education and some of them were too young to even have been to a grade school. They were listed as bounty hunters by the Brotherhood of Justice and had an impressive record of bounties. Maybe they weren’t as clownish as they looked. Finally, they gathered around their vehicles. He listened in on their conversation.
“The dogs tracked them into the wastes heading North, do you want to follow them on foot?” A spiky blue haired man asked the leader.
Before he could answer, one of the other men chimed in. “They are probably heading for Ozzie’s. That’s the only thing in that direction. They could probably pick up a car there.”
